Last Minute Heroics
by Mach56
Summary: Jaune Arc is cornered, deconstructed, and presented with what could be his last choice. Both the hunter and his opponent know what the decision will be. Oneshot.
Author's Note: Best read with "Blitzkrieg" by Audiomachine or "The Truth" by Audiomachine as a supplement.

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Last Minute Heroics

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Jaune's movements felt slurred, his thoughts so mercurial, so hard to grasp. What he experienced, what he saw, was so foreign and confusing to comprehend. Part of him thought he was living a nightmare, part of him was convinced this was reality. The conflict was endless and left him begging for an epiphany.

What he knew:

He had been fighting some fearsome opponent for what seemed like ages. He had used everything he had against this creature, but for every move he had it seemed to have an answer, hissing and laughing and growling as it slowly wore away at the young hunter's fighting style. He remembered pursuing it through fire, dodging projectiles and deflecting would be finishing blows. It certainly was a phenomenal battle, one that he was clearly going to lose.

The gnawing questions:

He was fighting, but how was he able to fight? He couldn't exactly figure out how he was able to keep up with such a ruthless opponent. This sort of fighting prowess was beyond anything he had been capable of, something he would expect from a seasoned hunter. And more curious, despite all of his ability, throughout the entire fight there existed some sinking seed of fear and anxiety, as if he had known his fate before the duel had begun. How did these thoughts come to be?

Strangely enough, when he caught up to the present, when time seemed to finally slow down, he was unwounded, and neither was his foe. They stood a couple paces away, glaring at one another. Jaune somehow knew that a conversation was to begin. Worse, he knew what it would entail.

"Always in the dark, aren't you?" Echoed the hateful face that stood tall in front of him, "And yet you continue to lash out, trying to strike something. Quite… depressing to witness."

This had to be a dream: Jaune suddenly thought. He didn't even recall how he got _here,_ this bright circular stage surrounded by pitch black. What had happened in the last two days? The last month? The last year? Where was Ruby and her team? Where was Nora, Ren? He wanted to know more about his surroundings, about who he was, but he was unable to tear his face away from the evil, unable to think, only to reflect on these words it spoke.

"Well, I suppose it's time for you to choose. Though, I suppose we all know how this is going to play out."

Choices. Jaune never had the luxury to really make his own decisions. The world always seemed to decide for him, now more than ever. He felt his sword and shield all of a sudden, weighing down on him as he held them up in a defiant position. He had _chosen_ to put his guard up, and that individual act gave him _some_ comfort: At least he was in control of his arms.

The dark swordsman took that defiance and chose to question it.

"Really? _Really?_ Are you so certain? So committed to fight? I'm calling that bluff."

Jaune wasn't sure: All he wanted was to survive until the morning sun. And whatever he had been fighting knew it, incredulous and doubtful.

"Then _don't_ : you can walk away, child. You can live on. Nobody can blame you for that choice! You've had first hand experience in these types of decisions. You've seen how they break people's _hearts_. Living gives you another chance, gives you a future."

Jaune couldn't take that one sitting down, as the word "hearts" seemed to echo in his mind.

"Shut up."

His opponent chuckled weakly at Jaune's anger, as it fueled the Grimm.

"I'm serious! You don't have to do this. But of course, the Arcs, those insufferable romantics, always choosing to stay and fight. I've stood witness to it time and time again."

The dark being looked straight into Jaune's eyes, searching for weakness. Try as he might, Jaune couldn't hide a flickering, sickening curiosity. Jaune chose to say it first, and break the silence.

"What could you know? You're a soul-less piece of s-"

"Soulless! Not brainless!" The cruel warrior interjected instantly as it began to pace erratically towards and around Jaune, "In fact, I have a lot of knowledge on the the Arcs and their suicidal pursuits of glory. You could say I _am_ one, sans soul."

Not possible, unless this was a dream. Jaune still wasn't sure of that, so he went with the obvious response.

"You're full of shit."

"Says the blind one!" The human… or humanoid, laughed, putting its left hand straight over its eyes and swinging randomingly with its worn, jagged blade, swaying and stumbling about, "It's a dream, it's reality. It's a lie; no wait, it's true! Should I leave, should I commit? Ignorance! Incredulity! You're the one full of nothing!"

The last statements were less of a joke and more of an malicious accusation. The left hand jutted out as it accentuated the creature's fury.

" _You're_ the one who is full of it, who can't make up his mind, who can't see things for what they are, who lacks strength and instead lets others have their way with you. Hurt you. Deceive you. _Abandon_ you."

Nothing it said gave Jaune any answers. Should he just stay still, ready to defend, or try to attack? Was he really suffering from a lucid dream? Dream or reality, he just wanted this terrifying exchange to be over. He knew he couldn't best the warrior, so he chose to let it ramble on.

"But you have that right, to be stupid and weak. Congratulations! ...But that doesn't free you from choice: and now, in this moment, you _**have**_ to choose. And to be quite honest, I'd prefer to see something different this time around: not this ridiculous, retarded martyrdom. So please, Jaune, please just _go._ "

The opponent lowered his hand, the grin gone, the mocking demeanour replaced with a tired, commanding voice. Jaune wouldn't believe it: that his opponent was agonizing over this. The duplicitous creature couldn't be trusted, but the exhaustion in its voice sounded much too sincere.

"I've seen this stupid thing play out so. Many. Times. And it's always the same. Old. Shit. You could work with me, pledge your sword to Salem, or just run away and live the rest of your life hiding on some miserable corner of Remnant. So many choices! Anything, Jaune! Anything but... but _this_. And it always is exactly this: a stupid, suicidal last stand. Why can't it _ever_ be something new?"

Jaune felt a bit insulted by this pity, was confused by the name "Salem", and when he took a step forward the creature reacted even more poorly.

"Humans have sacrificed themselves for centuries, perpetuating this cycle! Have some selfishness for once, Jaune! Don't be like _them_. What have their defeats given you? Just some... _sick_ perversion to follow in their footsteps, an inability to move on, a dependance on those who lead you to utter destruction, complete trust in their lies about 'unwavering' loyalty and 'timeless' devotion. Have you ever once questioned the battles that you fight? Have you ever considered the _intent_ of your instructors? Don't you see what Ozpin has done to you, to your friends?"

"You don't understand."

"Really? You glorify your ancestors, don't you Jaune? All of their best work was done when they _lived_ , stupid! But no: everyone always loses their minds over those heroes for those magical last stands, even those who suffered inglorious executions: eaten alive, tragic suicides, burnt at the stake. Such a perverted addiction! Ends are just ends, nothing glorious or magical about them. So just go: _survive_. So much more rewarding for _everyone_."

Were they in some dungeon in some medieval castle? Some abandoned or invaded town, surrounded by Grimm? Or was it the pitch of night, lost in the wilderness? Jaune couldn't tell by the dreary, dark shadow that obscured the world around them. There wasn't any wind, everything was still except for the two. Jaune felt adrenaline coursing through him, numbing his senses and preventing him from feeling else. Only the monster's voice sounded clear.

Had to be a dream. _Must_ be a dream. Otherwise he was losing it, none of this made any sense. In his confusion, time passed on and his foe continued to talk out loud.

"But who am I kidding? You're so far gone. The moment that Nikos girl offed herself you were going to go and bite off more than you could chew, soon enough. Anyone with a shred of intelligence could see that coming: you want to affirm her death, follow in her footsteps to try and prove to the world - yet again - that her death _meant_ something."

 _Don't bring her into this._ Jaune wished he could snarl, but instead:

"Shut up!"

Gods, he sucked at arguing, especially with murderers. But why was he even bothering? There was no point, and yet he was somehow drawn to the words. Maybe it was the look on the warriors face, how the hateful azure eyes seemed to burn over any other sort of light. The dark figure got even closer, seizing him up, completely relaxed and in control.

"I'm just stating the truth, Jaune. Just because you wield Crocea Mors, just because you lost Pyrrha Nikos, doesn't mean you have to die like your benefactors. No matter what people think, these sort of theatrics don't make you a hero. Especially when you can live! You can defeat me some other day, I'm sure, with just some diligent practice, some more time! But you don't even entertain that possibility... Instead you charge forward, rash and pursuing some fever dream to die in misery. Just like her."

"You weren't even there when she died." Jaune spat, steadily losing composure.

"Neither were you. Cinder told me all about it, for me to use against you as some 'psychological warfare,'" The demon chuckled, "So yes! She died quite horribly."

Jaune hated the name Cinder, and the spite was palpable in his response.

"She died... for what she believed in."

"And what a terrible thing to believe in, no?"

"Shut _UP_."

For a moment their weapons tore together, and the next second Jaune was staggering, the wind knocked out from him from a knee to the gut. He was knelt down for a split second, and shot back up, half expecting the battle to be over.

"Obviously you'd say that!" The warrior spat, not moving to capitalize on the exchange, sticking to the verbal abuse, "Just as idealistic and self-centered. Why else did you _steal_ Crocea Mors? Run off and _lie_ in order to become a hunter? Wanted to be just like your ancestor Martel, didn't you? Wasn't he _such a hero?_ "

Jaune felt the color drain from his face, as he continued to wheeze from the stunning blow. How did he know this? How did he know of his crimes? And why Martel? Part of him had a suspicion, but it wasn't possible. He wanted to wake up. He wanted this nightmare to end now.

"He-"

"He died just like Pyrrha: He died _horribly_. He died in _vain_. Trust me, he _suffers._ He _**regrets**_ _._ But he no longer has the soul, no longer has will. All he has is a stupid bloodline that never ceases to disappoint him."

The ancestor's eyes were a terrifying thing to look into, a window into the mind of a soulless creature that had been chained and tormented for ages, all hope destroyed by terrifying epiphanies. All that existed within the shell of the once-proud warrior was spiteful boredom and displeasure, so much of it directed towards the young hunter. Jaune felt his strength slipping away and fear take hold as the creature glared at him with such intense bitterness, towering over him and ready to finish matters.

"No, no..."

"Yes. You wanted to be just like _him_ , but you haven't even managed to save anyone, achieve something, conquer anything. At least the girl, Ruby Rose, has done that much. Good on her. She may actually change things... Not you. All you're going to do is _**die**_ like him... 'At least it's something, right?' _Bleeeh_. You're _**despicable**_."

"This isn't... possible... You're…"

"Hmm, yes. An echo, I bet, telling you that there is nothing you can do here. Telling you, almost begging you, for you to run, to cease this stupid crusade and take control of your life. To. _Walk._ _Away_. But..."

But Jaune didn't turn. No matter how much his soul screamed out for escape, his body could not respond, his mind couldn't accept it. Deep down, they both knew that his entire life had been...

"...building to this very moment. Every small victory, every crushing loss. It was meant to be: That curse, passed down the Arc bloodline, has reared its head yet again. Good for you, Jaune. You arrogant little warrior, you stupid insecure boy. You'll get what you've always wanted."

The nightmare stepped forward with the darkest, most repulsed face imaginable. Jaune responded with a brave face, walking forward with sword and shield at the ready, prepared for the final exchange.

"Just like Pyrrha: You're going to be remembered as a hero. Your death will make it so."

* * *

 _The Black Surge was the first global crisis that included the use of automatic dust-powered guns as well as high speed aerial transportation. With such technological advances, the Atlesian military was able to quickly connect and support the armies of the three remaining kingdoms, arguably the largest reason as to why the crisis had been withstood. However, the severity of the Black Surge was certainly the most violent and calamitous invasion attempt in recorded history, and no technological advances could stem such an offensive. Multiple towns and villages were overrun across the continents, leading to a mass refugee immigration within Kingdom boundaries, known as the Consolidation. The Consolidation, along with Atlesian occupation led to the sudden increase of nationalistic tendencies and protests against the Atlesian presence within foreign kingdoms, arguably the earliest precursor to the Color Wars._

 _On the front, the battles were gruesome and frantic, with records and reports estimating human forces being outnumbered by at least thirteen beowolves to one. However in these dark times, strong hunters and huntresses rose to meet the challenge and lead the armies through the most lethal and dire of engagements. Martel Arc was one of the more famous fighters in this period, known as "The Hammer" for his ferocious skill that could leave dent marks on metal. Leading the Vacuan army to numerous victories over the Grimm hordes, Martel was one of the first to declare the Consolidation a necessity, emptying at least fifteen urban centers to be escorted into the safety of Shade. This massive undertaking led directly to The Rout, when a massive horde of Grimm attacked the convoy, becoming one of the most critical and controversial engagements during the Black Surge. It was in the battle that Martel was overwhelmed and lost to history, leading a suicidal charge that would be immortalized as by an anonymous Faunus survivor who composed the poem, "The Fall of One, End of Many". After such a decisive defeat, the urgency of the Consolidation was reconsidered by the other kingdoms, who became much more methodical and careful at evacuating vulnerable urban areas, prioritizing the safety of their military forces over civilians._

 _To the present day, historians continue to argue over the moral precedents set by The Consolidation. While Martel valued civilians over armed forces, his desperate or vain attempt to migrate such a large amount of refugees was certainly a strategic error. However, the slow attempts to secure refugees in Vale and Mistral led to the loss of thousands of lives that went unsupported against the influx of Grimm, a historical tragedy echoed in the fall of Mountain Glenn. Whether Martel's gamble was a moral imperative or a naive blunder, it is undeniable that he lived, fought and died as one of the greatest heroes of his time._

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End.


End file.
